


a bunch of school stuff

by The_Degu



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dialogue, Gen, Letter, Poetry, Rats, School Work, Voice, biography, epistle, non-human charicters, personal, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-11-08 10:54:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17979983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Degu/pseuds/The_Degu
Summary: like literally, these are from prompts from my college art as writing class. a little different from the open prose that I usually write here, a little more artsy-fartsy but I want to share them. mostly drabble length, just because having super long works is not necessary for this class. a lot of this stuff is super personal, more than the fanfic I usually post, so it is much different then my usual tone





	1. Autobiography

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: autobiography, this had a few false starts, I have had both a very normal life and a very complicated one at the same time, so I struggled on how much information to give. So I brought it down to one interesting aspect of my life that I now feel more comfortable in, and that I want to explore some in all of my art.

I remember the first time I had doubts that I felt the same way others do. I was maybe eight or nine years old. I was talking to my friends about a movie, and everyone in my friend group was talking about who they had a crush on in the film. I listened and smiled, I joined in with saying “yes he is good looking” and confirming what I thought I was supposed to say. I told them that I had a crush on one of the characters.  Mostly because no one else in the friend group had “claimed” him, but I did not feel the excitement and the need to fantasize about him like my friends did with their “claims.”

In grade school, I had a crush on a boy. Well, all of the girls in my grade had a crush on him, but he was still smart and genuinely kind, unlike the other boys. I remember my heart racing when I looked at him and thinking ‘yes this is a real crush.’  Then I would look over to my best friend and feel the same way and think ‘I am just excited to see her.’, there was no way I could have a crush on a girl that does not happen.

Though I cannot remember the specifics of my first kiss, it was so long ago, and I chose to forget it until recently.  I hadn’t seen my friend in over a month because she was out sick. When she walked into the room after all that time away, I ran up to her and kissed her, not realizing what I was doing until it was too late. I pulled away as soon as it happened, and I apologized profusely not wanting to get into trouble. Years Later I kissed a boy on his birthday. I thought for years that that was my actual first kiss and told everyone that that was my first. Because a first kiss has to be with a boy, right?

The year I turned eighteen, it was the year I thought I had my first kiss, it was the year I stopped going to church, and it was the year I started finding myself. I got a job and started looking for colleges, I went to a month-long art program and realized that that is what I wanted with my life. I remember driving to my boyfriend’s house, my best friend sitting shotgun. She was the first person I told I thought I was Bisexual. The words out of her mouth make me want to laugh and cry at the same time. “well, I’m not into girls” she said, and I dropped the subject, and never picked it back up.

I remember telling my sister on Christmas Eve 2016, and her telling me that she isn’t blind, and she loves me the same. I told my mother around my birthday a year later, she was shocked at first, but then after that died down, she said to me that she should have seen the writing on the wall. I told my dad this past Thanksgiving, he was shocked, we haven’t talked about it since. I do not know which one I feared telling the most.

I am the first person out in my family, though I know I am not the only queer person in it. It is not my place to say someone else’s story, but it is both nice and frustrating now knowing I am not the only one. I can confidently say I know myself better now than I ever have, and now that weight off of my chest is so freeing. I do not regret telling my family, though it was terrifying at the time. The only thing I regret is not figuring it out sooner, and not having the confidence to tell the last of my family until four years after I discovered myself.


	2. Poetry in responce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote three poems for this prompt, mostly because I have no idea how to write poetry, and had no idea on what tone or type would be the best. So a super serious poem smashed between two joke poems came out. I got a lot of mixed reviews on this one, to say the least.   
> but I am not a poet so I am still proud of how parts of these came out.

**A reaction to poetry**

     Poems are complex  
     Rhyme is difficult to write   
     Haikus are good though

**A reaction to onlookers**

     Fat is not a curse  
     “but you are pretty,” you say  
     I never said I was ugly,

  
     Fat is not a curse  
     “she is going to kill herself”  
     Every fat person knows the risks,  
     We have been told every day

  
     Fat is not a curse  
     “are you sure you should eat that?”  
     I do not tell you how to live your life  
     Quit telling me how to live mine

  
     Fat is not a curse  
     “your eyes are beautiful”  
     “it is what is on the inside that counts”  
     ust say you do not find me attractive  
     Quit treating me like a child

  
     Fat is not a curse  
     You would rather have people suffer  
     Then look at them  
     Though they are doing nothing wrong  
     Except exist and be happy.

  
     Fat is not a curse  
     “you need to change your habits”  
     No, I do not

**A reaction to pets**

     Dogs are good

     Dogs are grand  
     Dogs are my biggest fans

  
     Cats are fun  
     Cats are silly  
     Cats tend to be a bit chilly

  
     Horses are simple  
     Horses are strange  
     Horses live out on the range

  
     Lizards climb  
     Lizards crawl  
     Lizards spend time up on a wall

  
     Snakes are not slimy  
     Snakes are chill  
     Snakes sometimes have a cool frill

  
     Degus are small  
     Degus are furry  
     Degus run on their wheels, in a hurry

  
     Pets are awesome  
     Pets are fun  
     Pets are the greatest things under the sun


	3. epistle (letters)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into my mind. and this is not the original version, I tweaked it quite a bit since I first shared it with the class, using the response i got, and overall i like this version better

To everyone here

    Hi, it’s me, Riley. I know we haven't talked in a while, but I just wanted to tell all of you that love some of you more then I love myself. it sometimes breaks my heart that you arn't here with me. You were some of my closes friends and kept my darkest secrets when I was growing up, and even now you do the same.

    On my last count, there were 56 of you knocking around here. Overall of the continents, worlds, and universities, you live on. I know some of you have hopped from one to the other, I hope you do not resent me for forgetting your friends. I hope your new ones are better.

     You are also my friends and a part of mem and I remember when I used to sit down and have conversations with you or go on grand adventures while I was doing my chores. I was terrible at making friends, so I became good at _making friends_. You made worst days barrable. Because I knew, I could make someone else’s day better even if they did not exist, or I could take out my anger without hurting anyone I could touch. I apologize for any missing limbs this may have caused you.

    It gets painful sometimes when you are not here because I care about you as much as some people in my life that I can touch. I remember the days I could see you standing next to me when I could almost feel your skin or fur under my hands. Why can’t I do that anymore? Well I guess that might be considered a good thing, amongst the people I can touch, they might not like the idea of me seeing all of you, and I understand why. though Now I can only see you in my mind, and some days I cannot even see you there, and I hope I do not forget you all entierly.

    So I guess this is goodbye for right now, though since you’re a part of me, it is impossible to say goodbye. I hope you all like the stories I have made for you, and that you are okay with where they are going.  Feel free to tell me at any time if I have made you uncomfortable though I guess that might be difficult.

    Thankfully yours

       Riley-

 


	4. From an Image- Something That Actually Happened to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> while the image is not here it really isn't that important to this work. it was more the memory surrounding the image then when and where. this is probably both my favorite and least favorite work I have done for this class. It is probably the most creative one at least, even though it starts out as a true story, I really let my imagination fly at the end.

 

[image: a mural painted on a garage door. the mural is of angel wings and hallow, but the wings appear to be made of pizza. in front of the mural, there is a parked car and tree, end image ID]

I do not know why it was different this day. Maybe it was just being somewhere new, or different lighting, but I do not know if I will be able to go back. Very few things stick in my mind from that day, even the art I was specifically looking at does not come back to me.  I was too distracted to look at the art, I kept on glancing at her instead.

Though the mural of the pizza wings outside caught my eye more than anything I saw in those galleries. Well the mural and the dogs, those I remember.  Maybe it is just because I didn’t take pictures of the art, or maybe I took pictures of the dogs and mural because I found them more interesting. Though they do not dig their claws into my memory the same way as her.

When I saw her there, It wasn’t the first time nor the hundredth, but it was the first time I truly saw her. We walked together, talked to each other, and looked at each other so many times before, I do not know why this was different. Maybe it wasn’t maybe it was just the first time I noticed my breath catch, and my heart race when I looked her in the eyes.  Or maybe it was just the first time that I thought the same thing might be happening to her as well.

She wore a orange dress, tight around her waist, blow flowy everywhere else. A pair of leggings and a cardigan to protect her from the cold, and her hair down. She smiled a lot that day, at the silly art, at the ridiculousness of the world.  Making her like the spring during the winter that refused to leave. Her colors more vibrant than photographs she studied, her discussions and mind more complex than the forms that laid around her.

She caught me staring, and I caught her doing the same. We danced around each other, both of us not knowing what to do, not knowing what to say.  It felt like high school again, I swallowed my fear, and stood next to her. We looked at the art together, noting the pointless things we should be talking about.  We looked at each other through the corners of our eyes, not wanting to overstep but wanting to push. Her hand brushed against mine we both jolted in our skin, the lightning of the small touch catching both of us on fire.  

I look through the corner of my eye before turning my head, she does the same. We both knew, but we were both so scared. I look down at our once-touching hands, and so does she. I silently offer, extending my fingers slightly.

All I can hear in this moment is the blood in my ears, all I can feel is the ghost of where we touched, all I can see is my own fogy hand. Until her hand comes in and breaks the spell of my panic. Her hand cool and slightly clammy much like my own, but what might be unpleasant on any other day, is now the greatest thing I had ever felt.  I look up to her, and she smiles, I smile too, no words are said as we look back to the art.

We walked out together, still holding hands. I wanted to say something, but my breath is caught in my throat. My tongue thick and sticky in my mouth, but she waits, her eyes turning into those like a cat’s. As her hand becomes huge and engulfs mine her form growing just as large, bat-like wings spring from her back. Tearing her spring-like dress. Her skin turns red like the setting sun her teeth sharpen into pearly daggers longer then my hand.  She picks me up in her arms her body warm and comforting, her smile still soft. Her voice is soft and tender like the one I had heard so many times before.

“do you want to get a coffee?” She asks

I smile and nod before saying “yes that would be nice”

  



	5. Footnotes-I Had to Start a New Routine on February 19th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This pice's prompt is footnotes on a daily routine. it is taking a lot from what I learned from the image prompt, and what I liked about it and expanding on some of those themes. Less auto-biographical, and more just pure storytelling, but it is still a neat piece I think. It also lousy links to some personal writing I am doing, so keep an eye open for that.  
> itsy bitsy trigger warning for raw meat, implied body horror, and non-explicit nudity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also! read this work without the footnotes first then read the footnotes with the work, for the best experience.

I Had to Start a New Routine on February 19th

I sigh as I ready dinner, baked rice and chicken, and the mixed vegetables from the microwave. Simple and filling I don’t need much more right now. I sit at a tiny white table. My plate of food in front of me slightly steaming, I wait for a minute letting my mind wander and my food cool. I try to not let my mind wander to the other plate of food1waiting on the counter. Though I am not that hungry I know I should eat.

I absent-mindedly push around the food on my plate, keeping my eye on the clock.  It is currently 5:04, which means I have around an hour before its time2. I stand and stretch, giving up on my meal. I am too nervous to eat any more than the few mouthfuls I forced down. I wash up quickly, keeping the time in the back of my mind as I work through the dishes.  I try to stop my hands from trembling, but my mind is too fogged by anxiety and excitement to really be able to stop.  Glancing up at the clock one more time and steady myself knowing it’s time. I go and pick up the second plate and head out of the kitchen. 

 I read the books and blogs about what will happen. About what to expect my first time but knowing what will happen and experiencing it are two completely different things. The blogs say everyone’s experience is different every time.  Though I doubt that; how can they all be unique when there are so many people on earth?

The house is empty quiet3, you would think on a night like this there would be some sort of extravagant weather. Rain or snow, something to set the mood. Not 45° semi-overcast with a 23% chance of rain. kind of anti-climactic if you ask me.

I sigh and make my way down the steps4. I shiver as the cool air hits me, it isn’t that cold but combined with the adrenaline running through my veins.  I go over the steps in my head, trying to remember that it shouldn’t hurt, even though mom said it should.  I do not know who I should trust more. At this point, probably the paid professionals, but mom told me that this day might come and what to expect.

I lock the door behind me5, and look around the room, and take in the details. The hard floor and walls6 the small amount of furniture7, and the cool air.  I place the plate on the floor next to the bed. I strip to just my underwear and place my clothes to the side.  I sit on the bed and hum to myself, trying to pass the time.  The waiting is always the worst part, even my mom agreed on that front.  I can’t help but feel a bubble of anger in my stomach as my mind traces to her, how her misguided attempts lead me to this point. How she tried to ‘help’ with juice cleanses and fad diets. I laugh bitterly, _a lot of good that does me now_ I think. _All it took was a single bite and here I am now._

So I sit and wait. Not knowing what the rest of the night will bring to me. but as prepared as I can be.

 

1: approximately three pounds of mostly cheap ground beef, with some butcher’s scraps mixed in.

2: the sun sets around six now

3: It is safest to do this alone, especially the first time

4: the stares lead to the tiny seller-like basement

5: a lock specifically made for human hands, and that emergency responders have a key to.

6: made of rebar-enforced concrete

7: just a mattress now, it will probably be destroyed before the morning comes


	6. Response to ' Water by the Spoonful'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> watched the youtube version of this play, and here is what i thought of it.

_Water by the Spoonful_ is an exciting ride, somber, joyous, fun, and heartbreaking. The themes of family, friendship, love, pain and moving on, are all deeply embedded in the stories that _Water by the Spoonful_ tells.  This play has a wide variety of characters.  Its stories takes on difficult topics like addiction, betrayal, loss war, and PTSD in a very grounded way.

In _Water by the Spoonful,_ there are three distinct stories being told, but all of them intertwine, intersect and have their own subplots and characters. Though this may sound like a lot, seeing it makes perfect sense.  Sure, there were one or two moments I was lost, and a few underdeveloped characters, but there are no water-tight stories.

One of the storylines fallows Elliot Ortiz, a Vet who is dealing with PTSD, addiction and a since of abandonment by his family.  Another story is fallowing Madeleine Mays, a gay woman who talks in a chatroom with three other recovering addicts.  Her journey in Japan, and her new online found family.  Then the third story tying the two others together fallows Odessa Ortiz, as she struggles with the loss of her mother; her son, Elliot, not wanting to do anything with her, and her attempts to help those she cares about online. Along with her constant struggle to stay sober. 

There are other characters too. Yazmin Ortiz, Elliot’s cousin, who is more like a sibling to him. John, the newest member of the recovering addicts chatroom. Clayton, Madeline’s best friend and my personal favorite character. And a, maybe literal and maybe metaphorical, ghost from Elliot’s past. 

While _Water by the Spoonful_ has many themes characters and storylines. I think that the most important topics discussed in the play, the ones that were talked about the most were that of how addiction can ruin a family.  Not just though the financial strain, the outburst, and the regrets the users can have. But also those same emotions, for those who surround them. 

This is best exemplified in the character Elliot, who resents his mother for killing his sister because of her neglect. the woman who really raised Elliot, his grandmother dies, he is forced to reconnect with his mother.  After a heated argument, in which, Elliot tells Odessa that he wished she was the one to die instead of his grandmother, Odessa overdoses. Leaving Elliot alone, filled with regret and maybe even more resentment towards his mother.

 _Water by the Spoonful_ shows the complex nature of interpersonal relationships and how they change, rise and fall.  It shows how love can falter, and how a chosen family can be just as important or filled with love as a family who you are born into. It shows that words can kill someone just as easily as a gun or a knife. and that if you truly love someone if you let them go, they may just come back.


	7. voice/radio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this prompt was 'voice and radio' aka we had to tell a story only through dialogue

**awe rats**

Characters:

932: a high boyish like voice, that cracks occasionally.

834: a lower feminine voice, gravely.

 

\--

\- a quiet night, the distant sound of crickets

 is overpowered by the sounds of machines

whirring, beeping, and pumping.  The sound

of tiny feet scrabbling on woodchips lays lowest

on the scale of sounds. Along with the steady

slow breathing of many tiny sleeping bodies.-

 

 

-there is the sound of a set of feet rustling the

shavings then a small grunt before 932 speaks-

 

932 hushed but urgent “834! 834! Wake up!”

 

834 (dazed) “wha-“

 

932 “I need to ask you something!”

 

834 “need to ask me what?”

 

932 “what it is like out there?”

 

834 (annoyed) “out- out where?”

 

932 (excited!) “they say you came from the outside, so the outside!”

 

834 “well, _they_ should keep their noses where they belong”

 

932 “but what is it like?”

 

834 (annoyed but giving in) “… I don’t want to get your hope small one. it’s not too different than here. A cage is a cage, whether it is here or there.”

 

932 (whiney) “but- 835 said she saw it before, that the large ones brought her out there.  she said it was so different.  That the ground stuck up in points, tall as we are. A-and she said there were other tall ones too! They were kind to her!”

 

834 (exasperated) “932, tall ones are strange, you should know this by now.  The fat tall one can be kind or take you away forever. As for outside, I only saw the spikes from a distance, through a hole. The cage I had before was not too different to this one. the others in that one were my siblings. Some were taken from me before I got here.  some placed in cages with fangs. Others short tall ones stroked and kissed. Then I was brought here.  you must understand, this is no better but no worse than out there.”

 

932 (annoyed) “so you're afraid.”

 

834 (sputtering) “I never said that”

 

932 “you didn’t have to”

 

834 (defensive) “fear is what keeps us alive. Have the elders thought you nothing?”

 

932 (quietly) “it can’t get better if you don’t try”

 

834 “it might get worse too…”

 

932 “… if that door was open right now, and you knew that the tall ones wouldn’t get you. Would you jump?”

 

834 (tired) “… I don’t know… now get some rest 932, the tall ones will be back in a few hours. Best be ready.”

 

932 (sighing) “oh-okay, but, can you tell me one other thing before I sleep?”

 

834 “yes 932”

 

932 “was the food any better?”

 

834 (with a slight chuckle) “hah, it wasn’t much different, though sometime the short tall ones would give us sweet things.”

 

932 (sleepily) “…now I will defiantly jump out if the door opens”

 

…

 

834 (thinking out loud in a very hushed tone) “… well if you jump, I guess someone’s gotta look after you.”

 


End file.
